


Sweet lovers love the spring

by HolRose



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Singing, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley loves plants, Crowley stops time, Dawn chorus, Declarations Of Love, Ducks, First Kiss, Horticultural excess, M/M, Pelicans, Pigeons, Pining, Public Display of Affection, St James's Park (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 04:37:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21332395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolRose/pseuds/HolRose
Summary: Crowley had to lean in and almost shout at Aziraphale, who was standing near the side of the lake looking around at the scene with a very strange expression on his face.‘What the fuck is going on, Angel?’‘Oh dear,’ said Aziraphale, looking rather pained and guilty.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 150





	Sweet lovers love the spring

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a bit of fun, an idea I had based on a poem by Roger McGough called 'At lunchtime'. I hope that it makes people laugh.
> 
> Kudos and comments are very welcome. I haven't been writing long and would welcome constructive comments.
> 
> Apologies, the HTML I put in for the footnotes went peculiar so I have edited it without that, the footnotes can be read at the bottom of the text.

**London**,** April 2019**

Aziraphale was singing:

_…in springtime, the only pretty ringtime, when birds do sing…_

It was a lovely song, a bit too heavy on the hey nonnie-noes and ring-a-dings for Crowley’s liking, indicating a lamentable lack of imagination on the part of the lyricist [1] as far as he was concerned, but enjoyable to hear nonetheless, in the angel’s beautiful voice.

_‘…sweet lovers love the spring…’_

They were in the bookshop, Aziraphale just washing and putting away their morning tea and coffee cups before they ventured out on a duck feeding (Aziraphale) and bothering (Crowley) mission to St James’ Park.

It had been an exceptional spring so far in London, people were still commenting on it. The weather had been particularly mild, with some days warm enough to stroll about in shirt sleeves. A lot of people were blaming global warming but the balmy temperatures did not appear to extend to anywhere outside the capital, with other places in the UK experiencing the usual mixture of grey drizzly days, frost and sleet.

The earliest spring flowers, snowdrops and crocuses had come in abundance, with a record flowering of daffodils, primroses, cowslips and other perennials following after them in parks and gardens right across the city. Wildflowers were starting to appear in the green spaces of the capital, the sward filling with buttercups, daisies, speedwell and forget-me-nots. The blossom had come early too and was currently showing in profusion, filling the parks and streets with a riot of froth and confetti of fallen petals underfoot as the blackthorn, cherry and may trees burst forth with their bounty.

The good weather and beauty of the spring blooms seemed to be affecting people too. Lunches were taken out of doors, more people were out and about, strolling, in the evenings, and there was a general air of relaxed good humour about the place in contrast to the usual low grade rage and barely polite behaviour of the capital’s citizens. Even the city’s taxi drivers were less foul-mouthed than usual, which was definitely a first.

‘Come on Angel, get a move on, it’ll be lunchtime before we’ve left the shop at this rate.’

Crowley was pacing about the bookshop, waiting for Aziraphale to stop fussing and get his coat on. The angel appeared, still humming, a beaming smile covering his face like a ray of sunshine.

‘I am sorry, my dear, all done now. Shall we step out?’

Aziraphale was looking particularly delightful this morning, he was happy, his face was a picture of grace and goodwill and his hair was shining like a corona around his head. Crowley gazed at him for a long moment. He was just, what was that word he used a lot, ah yes, _scrumptious_.

Crowley was struggling. He had loved this angel for nearly six thousand years and had never done anything about it. He had hoped that after the events of the previous August, and now that they were both free from their obligations to Heaven and Hell, they would have been able to be together as a couple. If questioned on the subject, he would have had to admit that the past few months had been rather lovely. They had spent most of their time together, he was rarely away from the bookshop, and they had fun, laughed a lot, ate good food and generally enjoyed themselves. Both had been able to relax as time went on and it appeared that they really were being ignored by the agencies of Heaven and Hell, probably out of corporate embarrassment. However, the love that he felt was increasing in intensity rather than anything else, and the last couple of months had been particularly bad on the pining front. Matters were only made worse by how affectionate Aziraphale insisted on being. The instances of little touches, hugs and even on a few occasions, a soft kiss on the cheek, were only serving to make Crowley more frantic. Still he remained unable to declare his affection, dreading rejection and the consequent end of their current easy companionship.

Things would probably have been more straightforward for them both were it not for the fact that Crowley was very sensitive about imposing his feelings on Aziraphale, and the angel for his part was extremely shy and lacked confidence.

It was a gorgeous day. The first thing that Crowley noticed when they emerged from the bookshop was the birdsong. It was dawn chorus time of year of course, and he had been woken that morning by vigorous chirping outside the window of the tiny bedroom on the top floor of the bookshop, where he had fallen asleep as usual while Aziraphale read. Opening the little window, he had been assaulted by the noise of singing from across the whole area. Little buggers. It was 4.30 and he definitely hadn’t had enough sleep. He went back to bed and stuck his head under the pillow attempting to block out the racket, eventually drifting off to sleep again. Despite dawn being a long time ago, they were still at it, the traffic noise blocked out some of it, but you could hear them yet, singing away.

‘Hear that,’ he said to Aziraphale, ‘people think it’s pretty.’

‘It _is_ pretty,’ responded the angel.

‘Nah, birds have just got good PR, that’s all. If you could understand it, it would be all, “fuck off out of my manor, you slaaag” and “I’m here, gagging for a shag, come and get me”. They’re just a bunch of aggressive, randy little buggers is what they are, especially at this time of year.’ [2]

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, ‘Birds are lovely Crowley. I love this time of year, when they sing so beautifully.’

‘That’s because you don’t sleep, Angel. Feathery little bastards.’

‘You’re one to talk, dear.’

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and Crowley, ever the mature one, stuck his tongue out and made an extraordinarily rude noise.

They continued to chat and tease each other in their customary way as they walked, Aziraphale telling him about what had been going on with his customers that week.

‘…and there has been a real run on poetry lately, I can barely keep up with it. Everyone is interested in the lyrical stuff. I suppose it is a case of “In the Spring a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love”, except it’s not just men, or young people either. Good for business though, if you like that sort of thing, business, that is…’

Walking through Soho, Crowley was struck by how many people greeted the angel. His neighbours on either side of the bookshop always said ‘hello’, others waved when they saw him pass by, their faces lighting up when they spotted him on the street. He seemed to know everybody, greeting the postman, the florist just up the road from the shop, the women at the local bakery [3] with a cheery wave and a ‘good morning’ or ‘good afternoon’. Everyone in the area knew that nice Mr Fell who kept the bookshop. Aziraphale was well liked in Soho, Crowley knew, because he took the time to be pleasant, always having a kind word for everyone and stopping to chat when he felt it was what people needed. He was careful not to get too close to anyone, however, wary of contracting any deeper relationships in order to avoid inflicting the pain that is inevitable if a mortal being becomes emotionally involved with an immortal one. Crowley remained his only close friend. The angel spread love and was, Crowley realised, loved back in return by his community. Oh dear, the more he knew about Aziraphale, the more smitten he became.

The trees that lined the streets they walked along were coming into leaf. Crowley thought he might have been imagining things but it looked as though the leaves were visibly opening while he was watching them. The trees rustled, as if a breeze was passing through their crowns, the green on their branches thickened and seethed. They passed a flower delivery company man wrestling with a large bouquet that he was carrying. It looked as if the bunch of flowers was growing fatter somehow as he held it in his arms, squinting at the address label and hefting it higher in his grip as he walked up the steps and rang the doorbell of a townhouse. Roses started appearing above the cellophane wrapping and while Crowley watched, a couple of the buds started to tremble, the outer petals beginning to peel back.

They were nearing St James’ Park now. It was a popular spot for people to head to at lunchtime with its tree-lined walks and convenient benches. As they walked, Crowley could not help noticing how many people they passed walking arm in arm, or with their arms around each other’s waists, looking adoringly at each other. That was how it went, he supposed, you saw people in love everywhere when love was on your mind.

People were being very affectionate though. Quite a few people were kissing each other as they passed them. Aziraphale smiled at two goths in a desperate clinch and nudged Crowley.

‘So sweet to see people happy, isn’t it my dear?’

‘They’re all exceptionally happy as far as I can see,’ said Crowley, drily. He looked around the park, it was busy, more so than usual and as he scanned the lawns and paths, he realised that every single person there was with someone, and _with _them in a very particular sense. The park was full of couples. All of them appeared to be blissfully happy. In the occasional coupling, one or other of them also looked faintly surprised.

On their way to their usual duck feeding/bothering bench they had to detour around a pair who had stopped suddenly in the middle of the path and were staring intently into each other’s eyes as if they had both simultaneously just realised something. An elderly man and woman were walking ahead of them and they stopped too, taking each other’s hands and starting to dance, blissful smiles on their faces. The man twirled the woman around his hand and then drew her in close, pressing a kiss to her temple.

‘Ooh, love,’ she said looking up at her dancing partner, ‘if this is how you are after an extra egg with your breakfast, I’ll be making you one every morning!’ They continued to sway together, oblivious to everything around them.

***

Everyone in any kind of loving relationship in central London had felt it that morning, the urge to change their lunchtime plans. Phone calls had been made, texts sent, WhatsApp groups informed and social media statuses posted. Meetings had been cancelled, babysitters found, sandwiches made or bought and cake shops raided. People had taken buses, tubes and trains and then walked through the sunny London streets. Everyone knew that the thing to do that beautiful spring day was to go and have lunch with their bae or honey, or sweetheart or girlfriend or boyfriend, or baby, or soulmate or partner or husband or wife or squeeze at St James’ Park, it was an absolute no-brainer.

***

There were couples on skateboards, holding hands while they rolled along, skilfully weaving amongst the crowds. Dog walking duos, the leads of their charges getting tangled as they leaned into each other. Students declaiming poetry to each other, or discussing the meaning of life and the universe. Young men playing football and cricket before falling into each other’s arms. Young women spooning while reading to each other. Businessmen and women with briefcases undoing their ties and top buttons before looping arms around each other’s waists. Tourists taking selfies whilst kissing, fingers making peace signs by their faces. Buskers duetting in happy harmony, guitars slung round their necks. Environmental activists snogging on the grass. Couples of every possible shape and size, happily together having lunch in St James’ Park.

Young couples, middle aged couples, older couples, couples walking, couples picnicking on the grass, couples toasting each other with wine, couples sharing snacks, couples eating ice creams, couples simply talking, heads close together. Every bench in the park was occupied by pairs of people. They were of all ages, skin colours, genders and orientations. The park was a microcosm of London society that day and all of them appeared to be head-over-heels in love with the person next to them. There was much hand holding and kisses were being exchanged as if the share price for them were just about to fall and speculators had to get in quickly before the bottom fell out of the market.

Dogs were running about madly and doing the things that dogs do to say ‘I love you’, sniffing each other’s rear ends, jumping up to the human they loved, licking faces, barking and yapping with their tails in constant motion. Squirrels were swarming up and down the trees and darting across the grass of the park’s lawns, some being chased by the dogs, some chasing each other. There were gulls too, flying overhead in pairs, racing in the warm air, tumbling and making their distinctive calls

The birdsong was extremely loud now and birds could be seen clustering in the blossom laden branches of St James’ many fine trees, beaks open, and their tiny throats vibrating with trills, churrs and whistles. The combined singing made a constant ululation that wavered up and down like an aural sine wave. Ducks and pelicans were cosied up in pairs by the lake and amorous cock pigeons strutted purposefully after their inamoratas around the grass, neck feathers bristling, their throaty calls crooning into the air [4].

Crowley looked around at the beautifully laid out borders and formal beds. He loved this park, the flower displays were stunning. As he watched, flowers and shrubs were coming into bloom right in front of his eyes and other plants too were visibly growing, pushing their heads through the soil and shimmying into the air. The grass gave the appearance of being wind-blown as it grew, its sprinkling of wildflowers keeping pace with it. It was like watching one of those nature documentaries that appear at odd times of day on the television, the ones where they let the botanists loose on the time-lapse camera technology. David Attenborough would have been agog.

Crowds of people continued to stream into the park, two by two.

The combination of birdsong and the noises made by the people and animals around them was deafening. A chorus of murmuring was punctuated by little ‘oh’s and ‘ah’s made by the delirious throng as they enjoyed each other’s company. Crowley had to lean in and almost shout at Aziraphale, who was standing near the side of the lake looking around at the scene with a very strange expression on his face.

‘What the _fuck _is going on, Angel?’

‘Oh dear,’ said Aziraphale, looking rather pained and guilty.

***

‘We’ve had a complaint, Bennet, some sort of public order issue at St James’ Park. It’s just been radioed in.’

‘Right you are Sarge, we’re only a couple of streets away, be there in a minute…’

The car sped down Constitution Hill and turned into The Mall. PC Bennet steered into a parking space near one of the entrances to the park and cut the ignition, pulling up the hand break and turning to look at the officer in the passenger seat.

‘Oh. I feel a bit… odd …Sarge?’

Their eyes met. Sergeant Darcy looked uncharacteristically shell shocked. Their regulation peaked cap was removed and placed on a uniformed lap. The pair had been aware of a tension between them for quite a while now, but neither of them had felt able to do anything about it.

‘PC Bennet?’’

‘Yes, Sarge?’

‘Get your lips over here right now.’

Ooh, Sarge, I thought you’d never ask.’

***

In the big house across from the park, the pennant flapped lazily at the top of its flag pole. Philip was in his study, reading that day’s edition of the _Racing Post_ and running a finger around the inside of his collar. Was it him or was it getting rather hot in here? He became aware that there was someone else in the room with him when he felt a pair of warm, soft hands covering his eyes.

‘Guess who?’

‘Eh? Oh, Lilibet, it’s you.’

‘Yes, I thought I would pop in to see you.’

It took a little time, as neither of them was as young as they used to be, but after some careful manoeuvring, Philip found himself with a lap full of Anointed Monarch, Head of the Commonwealth and Defender of the Faith. To say that he was surprised would have been an understatement but there was part of him that was rather pleased.

‘Hello old girl, what’s all this about then?’

‘I just felt moved to tell you how very much I have always appreciated you. I am not quite sure why…You may be a cantankerous old fool, but you are my cantankerous old fool and you have always stood by me, and I am very glad of that. I don’t think I ever told you how very _dashing_ you looked in your naval uniform the first time I met you, I was quite swept off my feet…’ [5]

***

Crowley was anxious. Unusual activity in their vicinity was not good news, it could be a sign that either heavenly or hellish powers were actively seeking them out to take revenge for their part in stopping the Apocalypse and the holy war the previous year. The air felt heavy and fecund and he thought he sensed some great power being held in check, making the environment hum with tension. He felt slightly sick, steeling himself to fight and protect his companion.

‘Aziraphale!’ He stepped up to the angel and grabbed both of his hands in his.

Everything went crazy.

The flower bed next to them erupted as the tulips planted there tore their way out of the earth with a soft rushing noise, the flowers coming into bloom as the stems rose like a multi-coloured Mexican wave. The flower heads danced and nodded as they came to their full height, soundless bells ringing over the earth they had recently been dormant in. All the lilac trees in the park blossomed simultaneously, their delicate scent washing over those nearest to them in a delightful wave. Rhododendrons and azaleas burst into their glory with such force that some of the heavy, trumpet-shaped blooms were catapulted on to the grass by their bushes. Trees that were in bloom started to develop fruit, the green orbs of pears, apples and cherries swelling and shading into red as they ripened, leaving them with blossom and fruit appearing together, as they had on the trees in Eden. Branches swayed and tossed with the appearance of new leaves, flowers and unseasonal seed pods. Flowers rippled open along their stems making soft popping and cracking noises with the violence of their sudden blooming. The intensity of the birdsong went up a fraction, beginning to sound more like a siren than something made by flesh and blood creatures.

‘I think this is my fault,’ Aziraphale had grown closer and was speaking loudly into his ear, ‘I am so sorry, I can’t help it. I should have done something about it before now, gone away or something.’

‘What are you on about, Angel?’

‘It’s me, Crowley, it’s my love, it’s all got a bit out of hand…’ Aziraphale was pink and his eyes were hot.

‘Your love? Wait, what? Your love for…for the world?’

Aziraphale looked mortified and went even pinker, looking down at the ground.

‘No, Crowley, my love for you.’

‘Pardon?’

‘NO, FOR YOU CROWLEY, I LOVE _YOU_.’

‘Ngk,’ Crowley swallowed and his cheeks reddened.

‘I’ve been trying to suppress it for ages, but it has been getting so difficult, especially lately, and I was feeling so happy this morning and you were looking so _beautiful _and, and, and, it’s all just sort of…boiled over. I stopped being able to control it once we were in this garden, you can imagine why. I am so sorry, I didn’t want to tell you and spoil things. I know it isn’t what you want…’ Aziraphale looked wretched.

‘Not what I want? Angel…look, hang on a minute…’ Crowley looked around at the fleshly and horticultural madness surrounding them and then threw his hands up in the air with a strangled cry.

Everything stopped. Gulls hung in mid-air, people froze in their attitudes of kissing and fondling, there was complete silence.

‘I can only do this for a moment. Angel, come here.’

He drew Aziraphale towards him and into an embrace, first kissing away the small tear that was making its way down one cheek and then claiming the angel’s lips with his. His mouth was warm and impossibly sweet and he smelled of cut grass, lemons and sunshine. He gave a little ‘oh’ and began to return the kiss, curving one arm around Crowley’s waist and placing the other on the back of his neck, stroking the short hair there. The kiss was tentative and tender and spoke of infinite possibilities.

It was a perfect moment.

They drew back slightly and looked at each other. Aziraphale was glowing, literally, his face wreathed in a beatific smile. Crowley was happily stunned; all this love had been for him, it was hard to take in but he was willing to give it a go.

‘I love you too, Aziraphale, it’s been just as difficult for me the past few months, but we can talk about that later, we need to get this…_situation_ sorted out. They’ll be ripping each other’s clothes off in a minute.’

‘Oh, I know, I’ve been exerting myself to stop things from going…_too far_, at least for a public space, for the last while,’ he blushed again, ‘I think now that all this feeling has found its proper home, things should settle down. If I concentrate, I should be able to _put things back_.’

He grimaced, closed his eyes and raised his hands, pulling them down in a swift motion. Everything _changed_, and time started back up again.

If you had asked the people who had been at the park that day what they had done for lunch, most wouldn’t really have remembered. They found themselves seamlessly back at their desks, or at home or at college or shopping with no memory of anything remarkable having happened at all. The park did have more flowers blooming for the time of year and continued to look splendid but apart from interesting some horticulturalists and worrying some scientists investigating climate change, no-one really noticed aside from commenting on how nice it all looked.

An angel and a demon walked through the park hand in hand, smiling at each other, looking for all the world like any other couple having a lunchtime stroll in the sunshine.

‘So, this whole spring, that’s all been you then?’

‘I think so, yes. I have been feeling it more and more since the beginning of the year, and I believe it has been affecting the local causality.’ Aziraphale was still rather embarrassed to be admitting the strength of his feelings. They continued to walk towards the park exit. Birds sang around them, in a normal kind of way.

‘Angel?’ said Crowley, ‘how are we going to actually do this?’

‘I think we are going to have to work it out as we go along, my dear, just like people do. I don’t think being what we are gives us any advantages in this situation at all.’ He squeezed Crowley’s hand, ‘I hope it will be fine, we do know each other very well after all, it should just be a matter of making up for lost time.’

They walked out of the park, passing two police officers kissing passionately whilst leaning up against their squad car.

‘I thought you’d put it all back, Angel?’

‘I think some things were always meant to be, my love.’

  1. One W. Shakespeare.
  2. This is literally true
  3. There was a good reason for that one, they knew Crowley as well, the amount of times he was in there for croissants and cake.
  4. Pigeons are like this _all the time_. They had not actually been affected by what was happening at all. Being a male pigeon is to be in a constant state of roiling arousal. Female pigeons spend all their lives either raising chicks or running away, hopelessly looking for a bit of me time and the chance to have a really good preen without being jumped on.
  5. There might have been some Royal kissing at this point.


End file.
